


5 Times Bucky and Clint Kissed (and the one time they didn't)

by DowagerEmpress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, Clucky - Freeform, Demisexual Clint Barton, Demisexuality, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, Kissing, M/M, One Shot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Racing, Romance, Silly, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DowagerEmpress/pseuds/DowagerEmpress
Summary: “Oh the kiss?” Clint asked. He turned on the TV and began flipping through the options on Netflix.“Yes, the kiss! What was that about?”Clint paused his perusing and turned to face Bucky. “I was curious.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 159





	5 Times Bucky and Clint Kissed (and the one time they didn't)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meanttobeclever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanttobeclever/gifts).



> I begin with a plea to the reader to please read this through the lens of early 90s/00s rom-com.

The first time caught Bucky by surprise. The team was lounging around the compound’s main room. 

Bruce and Thor were in a heated discussion about wormholes. Bucky had tuned out sometime around the fourth “ quasi-permanent intrauniverse wormhole.” He was fascinated by science, but he wasn’t anywhere near Bruce’s level, and the discussion had quickly started making his head spin.

Steve was in the corner with his easel and charcoals. Natasha was with him, posing against the windows, dressed in a white Grecian gown that faded from white to vibrant red, pooling around her ankles—how Steve had managed to convince her to model for him, Bucky wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had something to do with the scent of cherries his enhanced senses had picked up coming from Steve’s quarters.

Tony and Peter were working on something in the garage, and Rhodey, Wanda, and Sam were out on a mission.

Bucky for his part was trying to read. Peter had recently gotten him into the  _ Good Omens  _ television series and he wanted to read the book.  _ Trying _ was the operative word. The source of his inability to focus on the fictional antics of angels was Clint.

Perched on the edge of the walkway above the room, Clint had been staring at Bucky for the past half-hour.

He dutifully stared down at his book, trying to ignore the man. When he’d reread the same sentence for the third time he gave up. Still, he didn’t look up from the book. This was a waiting game; one that Bucky was prepared to win. Eventually Clint would make his intentions known and Bucky would be prepared.

Another fifteen minutes passed before there was movement. Bucky heard it before he saw anything. There was the barest rustle of fabric and the soft thud of Clint’s bare feet hitting the floor before he was vaulting over the back of the couch and plopping himself down next to Bucky.

“Heya,” Clint said, still staring.

Bucky slowly closed his book, put it down next to him on the couch, and turned to face Clint. “Hey.”

“Whatcha reading?”

“Uh— _ Good Omens _ . It’s what that TV show Pete’s really into is based on,” Bucky replied, still confused by Clint’s sudden interest in him.

It wasn’t that the two disliked each other; they just didn’t ‘hang out’, as the youths were saying. Clint was usually with Natasha, and Bucky usually spent his free time with Steve exploring the wonders of the 21 st century.

Bucky had actually always found the man charming and funny. He’d been the first one to welcome Bucky to the team. It made him feel like less of an imposter. Admittedly, the bear hug had been a little much, but the sentiment had been appreciated.

Not too hard on the eyes either, with his spikey blonde hair and, quite frankly astonishing, fondness for the colour purple, or tendency to be covered with bruises and bandages. It was a rugged, approachable kind of beauty, and one that Bucky appreciated.

Clint smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I know. I think the part with the nuns is my favourite.” 

Bucky returned his smile. “I like that part too. The nuns seem like fun, but they’d drive me crazy after a while.”

“Not me,” Clint said, crossing his arms smugly. “If I ever got tired of the incessant chatter…” He mimed turning off his hearing aids.

Bucky laughed. “Good strategy. But how do you know they don’t know how to chatter in sign language?”

“If they do, I could just close my eyes.”

“What if they tap out Morse code so that you can feel the vibrations through the walls and floor?” Bucky shot back.

“I—” Clint stopped, thought for a second and then slowly closed his mouth. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in close to Bucky. “Ok, now I  _ know _ you were a legendary assassin, because only that kind of mind could come up with something that insidious.” 

Bucky just winked at Clint. “I think the bit where Anathema gives Adam the old conspiracy magazines and he starts accidentally changing the world is my favourite part… so far, anyway.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Clint leaned further forward and kissed Bucky gently on the lips. 

Bucky froze, his eyes flying open wide and a surprised grunt escaping. He was acutely aware of Clint’s hands holding his face, the feel of his stubble scraping against his chin, and the insistent press of his recently moistened lips.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Clint’s hands fell away and he sat back on the couch. A slight frown creased his forehead for a moment before he shook his head and smiled again. 

“Wanna watch a movie or something?” he asked Bucky, picking up the remote.

“Uh…what the hell?” Bucky blinked rapidly. 

Thor and Bruce were staring. Bruce looked a little worried, his eyes kept darting toward the door. Thor had a delighted smile spreading across his face. Steve was gaping openly, fumbling with his pencils. Natasha didn’t break her pose, her serene smile still perfectly in place.

“A movie. Do you want to watch a movie?” Clint repeated, slowly as if speaking to someone whose first language was not English.

Bucky just blinked at him, aghast. “A--not what I was talking about!”

“Oh the kiss?” Clint asked. He turned on the TV and began flipping through the options on Netflix.

“Yes, the kiss! What was that about?”

Clint paused his perusing and turned to face Bucky. “I was curious.”

Bucky was at a loss for words. Very little threw him for a loop these days. After everything he’d been through, he was able to take almost anything in stride. He could analyse it, see patterns, but this? This had come out of nowhere and Bucky could not fathom it.

“Curious about what?”

“Well,” Clint began. “Both Steve and the history books paint you to be something of a hit with the lads and ladies." He shrugged. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Strangely, this made sense to Bucky—at least as far as Clint was concerned. Clint was almost childlike in his curiosity and Bucky found it… kind of sweet.

He relaxed and sat back into the couch, watching Clint flip through movies and TV shows. The rest of the room’s occupants cautiously resumed their activities. After a moment, Bucky turned back to Clint.

“And?’

Clint shrugged. “It was fine. I don’t really see what all the fuss was about.”

“Well I wasn’t exactly performing at my best,” Bucky protested.

“It’s fine, dude. Now I know.”

Bucky bristled. “Oh, no. ‘ _ Fine _ ’ is not a word I’m okay with. I  _ earned _ that reputation and I’ll prove it.”

Clint shrugged once more. “Whatever dude. You in the mood for trashy reality?”

____________________________________________

Bucky’s chance for redemption came less than a week later. 

He’d be damned if he was going to let Clint get away with surprising him with a kiss and then claiming it was just alright; that his reputation hadn’t been well earned. The 107 h hadn’t called him Bucky ‘Kissing Booth’ Barnes for no reason.

For three days Bucky had been trying to get Clint alone, but no sufficient opportunities had presented themselves. 

The day after Clint’s ambush, he and Natasha had been called away to help put an end to minor human trafficking ring that Peter had discovered. They’d only been gone a day, but it seemed a tad gauche to Bucky to put the moves on Clint right after that kind of mission.

The next day, Bucky had been tied up in meetings and training sessions and had only seen Clint in passing. The longest had been when Bucky had been quickly scarfing down half a ham and broccoli quiche in the kitchen between meetings and Clint had come in to get a cup of coffee and a cold slice of pizza—a gross combination in Bucky’s opinion, but to each their own. Either way, it was not a situation for optimal oral performance.

Bucky finally got his chance the following evening. He was in the kitchen, making himself a plum pie—his mother’s recipe. It had recently come back to him and after the day he’d had, he needed that small comfort.

Nothing had actually gone wrong that day; he just felt  _ off _ , like he was slightly out of sync with the world. He blamed the weather. It had been rainy and cold and foggy, the mists pressing in against the windows making the compound seem cut off and isolated.

As the pastry cutter slid through the lard and flour, Bucky could feel tension he didn’t know he’d been holding flow out of him. The scent of flour and gentle metallic scrape of the pastry cutter against the bowl transported him far away, and long ago, to a warm, cramped kitchen in a Brooklyn tenement. The sense of familiarity was almost overwhelming.

Baking, even as a child, had always helped ground and comfort him. Early in his recovery, just after Washington, memories of baking with his mom had come back to him, jumbled, but reassuring. For months, one shining, solid memory of making a cake with his mom had been his tether to who he’d been before HYDRA. Thinking of his times in Brooklyn with Steve, small and feisty, had helped at times, but Steve and Captain America were too linked with HYDRA to provide the mental safe haven that Bucky had needed.

Even now, as he stirred ice cold water into the pastry, Bucky could almost smell his mother’s gardenia perfume. He was so lost in the familiar sensation that he almost jumped when Clint spoke from behind him.

“You look relaxed.”

Bucky whirled around, fork flying from his hand and embedding itself in the cabinet, half an inch from Clint’s head. Had Clint not dodged wildly, the fork would have been lodged between his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Clint! Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a technologically and chemically enhanced assassin?” Bucky shouted. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

Clint’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile, his eyes twinkling. “Must’ve had my aids off during that lesson.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“So, what’re you making and, more importantly, can I steal some?” Clint hopped up to sit on the counter, just shy of the area Bucky had floured.

“I’m making a plum pie, and yes, you can have some…  _ if _ ,” Bucky added, interrupting Clint’s victory dance—which was more of a fist pump and butt wiggle than an actual dance—“you help me cut up the plums.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed before he suddenly smiled and stuck out his hand for Bucky to shake. “You got yourself a deal Barnes.”

Bucky handed Clint a bowl, the basket of plums, and a paring knife and he set to work. The work went slower than it would have if Bucky were alone, hands slowed by idle conversation.

“So you were a circus performer?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Every kid talks about running away to join the circus, but I actually did it,” Clint replied.

Bucky paused for a moment before returning to his dough. Somehow that made sense for Clint. He didn’t suit a nuclear family, and he wasn’t well-off in that orphanage. Bucky lifted the pastry and draped it gently over the pie plate, pressing it into the corners. As he turned to place the plate to chill in the fridge he looked back at Clint. “Makes sense. The circus is where clowns belong.”

Clint gaped at him. “Rude! And here I thought people in the past were more polite.”

“Nah.” A crooked smile pulled at Bucky’s face. “That’s just Steve. He’s an outlier and should not be counted.” 

Clint snorted and went back to the plums. Bucky grabbed himself another knife and joined Clint at the counter.

“So what other things about the past aren’t true?” Clint asked, popping a slice of plum into his mouth.

Bucky shrugged. “A bunch of stuff.”

“Care to elaborate?” Clint prodded.

“Not really,” Bucky sniffed, haughtily. He winked and stuck out his tongue at Clint. “To be honest, I’ve found that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The technology improvements are, as I am to understand the kids say, ‘rad’. And I’m loving that no one wants to lobotomize me for loving men—not that I think there’s much to take anymore.” He tapped the side of his head with his metal hand.

“Did you just…” Clint gawked at him, mouth floundering

Bucky frowned at him, a little concerned. “Is self-deprecating humour not a thing anymore?”

“N—no, it is, I just… didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think I’d want to joke about my time with HYDRA?" Bucky quirked an eyebrow.

Clint looked sheepish. “Uh, yeah—pretty much.”

Bucky resumed cutting up the plums. “If I tiptoe around it and let it destroy me, it will. HYDRA has had control over me for too long. Is it hard some days? Of course.” Bucky uncurled his fist; broken bits of plastic fell to the floor along with the mangled blade of the knife. Clint silently handed him a new knife. “But, I’ve gotta start treating them like the clowns that they are.” He laughed humourlessly.

He felt a warm hand on his arm and looked up to meet Clint’s eyes. He didn’t say anything. After a moment, Bucky shook himself and resumed his work. “Oh, by the way you’re dead to me.”

“Uh—” Clint frowned. “And why’s that.”

“Because,” Bucky said, turning and pointing the paring knife squarely between Clint’s eyes. Clint's eyes crossed, trying to keep it in view.“You got me hooked on ‘Love Is Blind’ and it’s  _ terrible _ !”

Clint burst out laughing, doubling over and nearly falling off the counter. “You agreed to watch it, and if I recall it was you who insisted we watch the next episode.” He said, straightening up to snag another slice of plum.

“Hey,” Bucky said, slapping his hand away from the bowl. “Quit eating all of my filling!”

“It’s quality control,” Clint mumbled in between chews. His hand darted out and snapped up another slice and put it between his teeth, holding it there. “What’reyougonnadoaboutit?”

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully. There was a challenge in Clint’s eyes, one that Bucky would not let go unmet. A sly smile crept across his face. He leaned forward, his hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of Clint, trapping the man between his arms. Inch by inch, he moved closer until all that separated them was the tiny length of fruit. Slowly, Bucky slid his lips around the flesh of the fruit until he met the barrier of Clint’s lips.

The kiss was slow, tender, some of Bucky’s better work if he did say so himself. When he pulled back, the sliced plum was trapped between his lips and he swallowed it, savouring the sweetness.

Clint held his gaze for a moment, unblinking.

“Better—but I still don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

____________________________________________

Bucky was determined to prove himself to Clint. ‘Better’ wasn’t good enough. Until Clint was a trembling, whimpering, blushing mess against the wall, breathily begging for more, Bucky would not rest.

Perhaps he’d telegraphed his movements too strongly. Maybe the plum had gotten in the way. Or had Bucky gotten lazy? Was he out of practice?

Their first kiss had been spontaneous on Clint’s part. Maybe that’s what was lacking. Clint was impulsive, so surprising him with a kiss might be just what was needed.

It was a quiet day at the compound. T’Challa, Shuri, and Okoye were visiting from Wakanda, and they and most of the Avengers had gone into the city to see the sights—Steve was dragging Sam to Nathan’s Famous to see if it still was the best hotdog around (mostly because neither wanted to be around when T’Challa realized that Tony had arranged for them all to see Cats on Broadway--with a few slight tweaks to Mr. Mistoffelees' costume).

Both Clint and Bucky had gracefully excused themselves for the afternoon. Bucky still wasn’t a huge fan of crowds, and Clint had said something about tinkering with some new trick arrows—he’d made Natasha promise to videotape T’Challa’s reaction.

Bucky had spent the morning in meditation—a practice he’d picked up from Wanda during their stay in Wakanda. He stood from his lotus pose and went to find Clint. The morning stillness had been nice, but now his body was itching for movement.

He found him in his corner of the armory, one arrow held in his teeth as he worked on another one. Whispers of smoke drifted from a soldering iron held in his hand and he had smudges of soot streaked across his cheeks. The ground around him was littered with shavings of metal, loose wires, and oddly coloured powders. A metallic, chemical smell that Bucky recognized as a vecuronium bromide mixed with sodium amobarbital drifted from Clint’s workstation.

“Are you working on interrogation arrows?” Bucky asked, approaching from the side so as to not startle Clint.

Clint jumped anyway, the arrow falling from his mouth. “Jesus, dude! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“I did knock. And I wasn’t exactly sneaking,” Bucky pointed out. He walked over to closer inspect the arrows that Clint had been working on. Sure enough, each had a tiny, liquid-filled phial attached to a pressure activated injector.

“I wouldn’t touch those if I were you,” Clint said, standing. "They’re sensitive little bastards. And how’d you know they’re interrogation arrows?”

Bucky tapped the side of his nose and raised an eyebrow.

“But sodium amobarbital doesn’t have a smell.”

He shrugged. “To the unenhanced nose maybe not. Besides… what else would you be mixing with vecuronium bromide? Paralytic and truth serum is a classic combo. I used to use it all the time when I was the Winter Soldier.”

“I didn’t expect HYDRA to be that subtle. I’d have thought they’d just have you beat the info out of people,” Clint commented.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Bucky said, turning and patting Clint lightly on the cheek. “I’d have thought you of all people would know that information beaten out of people is notoriously unreliable.” He leaned in close to Clint then, smiling, and whispered in his ear. “Bloody faces earn questions, Clint. HYDRA was a covert operation for decades, remember?”

Clint looked unnerved for a moment and then frowned. “I have to admit, grudgingly, I’m impressed. And a little annoyed. I thought this was a revolutionary new idea.” He shook the arrow in Bucky’s face before throwing it on the ground, dejected. “There goes a week of chemical research wasted.”

Bucky picked up the arrow and handed it back to Clint. “Don’t be too dejected. It was one of HYDRA’s better kept secrets. And they never thought to turn it into a projectile, so that’s pretty impressive.” Clint perked up at that and smiled. “How did you manage to dose it so that you’d get the truth serum effect using rapid injection without having the person go full delirium anyway?” Bucky questioned.

Clint held up a finger in front of his lips. “Trade secret.” He winked.

Bucky laughed and held up his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But that means I’ll just keep HYDRA’s memory wipe secret to myself.”

“Uh—I think we all know their big ‘secret’.” Clint did a rather convincing mime of being electrocuted. Bucky raised a single, skeptical eyebrow at him.

“We had other methods. Ones that worked on the unenhanced or for short-term effect.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me.”

Bucky mirrored Clint’s gesture from before. “Trade secret.”

“C’mon! Please?’ Clint’s lip extended in an exaggerated pout, eyes going wide and glossy.

Bucky had to admit it was a pretty impressive puppy-dog look. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Deal?”

Clint considered it for a moment before he stuck out his hand. “Deal.” They shook. “I use Tony’s nanites. They release targeted micro-doses of the drug that produce the same effects as administering larger doses at a slowed rate.”

“That  _ is _ clever,” Bucky replied.

“Yeah, yeah. Now spill. How’d you guys erase short term memory?”

“Ok, but you can’t tell anyone else.” Bucky leaned in close, gesturing for Clint to do the same. Bucky brought his hand up to cup Clint’s ear and leaned in even closer to whisper. “I just thumped ‘em really hard on the head.”

Clint was silent for a second before he pushed Bucky away from him. “Asshole!”

Bucky stumbled backward laughing and clutching his stomach. “You should see your face!”

“Not cool!” Clint had crossed his arms and was glaring at him. 

Bucky felt a twinge of guilt as his mirth dissipated. Clint’s sulking was, he had to admit, kind of adorable. “I’m just messing with you… although that  _ was _ a technique I’ve used. Among other things, a higher dose of midazolam usually worked. It creates enough drowsiness, confusion, and a bit of memory loss that it’s usually effective enough. Now,” he picked up an arrow and tossed it in his hand. “What do you say we go do some training?”

Clint uncrossed his arms and smiled grudgingly. “Alright. I’ll show you what a real sniper can do. But first…” He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and made a quick note. Bucky could hear him sounding out midazolam as he wrote it down.

Bucky jogged quickly back to his room to toss on a weighted training uniform and grab his knives. He could’ve used the ones that they stocked in the armory, but he liked his own better.

He’d been beaten to the training room by Clint. The archer was wrapped in rope, hanging upside down from the ceiling, firing arrows at drone targets. Bucky watched, impressed. Clint was taking out the drones nearly as fast as Bucky could.

The final three drones zipped around the room, firing off the dye-packs they used in training. Like the acrobat he was, Clint skillfully dodged each, mimicking the movements of an aerial silks performer. If Bucky didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn Clint  _ was _ putting on a show for him. 

Bucky saw the exact moment Clint knew he’d beat the drones. They swooped down at him, each converging on his point from different directions. He held his position at the top of the rope until the last second before they were upon him, then he spun down in a controlled unravel releasing an arrow just as the flight path of the drones crossed. With a loud crash the three drones hit the training room floor, skewered on a single arrow.

“Beat that!” he called down to Bucky.

“Child’s play!” Bucky smirked, drawing one of his throwing knives. He tossed it casually, flipping it through the air, as if testing its weight. Quick as a flash, he grabbed it and whipped it through the air. The blade sliced cleanly through the rope supporting Clint and he went hurtling toward the ground.

Clint let out a startled yell as he fell. Bucky saw him fumble at his back, grabbing an arrow and hooking it to his belt. With a soft twang, Clint fired off one of his grapple arrows. The arrowhead anchored itself deeply in the cement ceiling, and Clint’s fall slowed gradually until he came to a full stop, hanging upside-down, six feet from the floor, head to head with Bucky.

“Impressed?” he asked, breathing heavily and smiling like a lunatic.

“Do it blindfolded and we’ll talk.”

“Kinky.”

Bucky rolled his eyes then, darting forward, kissed Clint. His hands came up to brace the upside down man’s face. Bucky nipped and licked at Clint’s lips, a move that both Dolores and Abe had always loved.

At last, he pulled back, releasing Clint. His face was red from hanging upside down, and his lips were glossy. He considered Bucky thoughtfully before flipping right side up and unclipping himself.

“Six out of ten, though you definitely earn style points. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed upside down before.”

“Only six!” Bucky asked incredulously. 

“Hey, before you were at a 4.5. Good effort though.” He patted Bucky’s cheek. “Now let’s see what you can do with those knives.”

___________________________________________

The 21 st century was a beautiful thing. The wealth of human knowledge was available at your fingertips and, even better, you could privately access that information and then delete all records of you ever doing so.

This was the point that Bucky had reached. Six out of ten? Unacceptable! Was kissing one of the things that had changed so dramatically in the past 70 years? He’d heard Peter saying ‘it’s 2019, we eat ass now’ to Tony, but he was pretty sure that was just meant to illustrate a ‘progressive’ attitude. If Peter thought that Gen Z invented eating ass…

But kissing… He supposed techniques and preferences could’ve changed. That’s how Bucky found himself sitting in his closet, watching YouTube kissing tutorials on an encrypted server, and taking coded notes in a journal. As far as he could tell, no, nothing had changed, but it didn’t hurt to take precautions.

“Mr. Barnes?” He heard F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice sound from within his room.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but Mr. Barton is looking for you. He’s outside your door. Would you like me to inform him that you’re hiding in the closet and to come back later?” she asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes, shutting down his tablet and emerging from the closet. “No, F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’ll go see what he wants. And uh—if you could just, not mention the closet thing to anyone…”

“I’ll be the soul of discretion, Mr. Barnes.” Though she didn’t have a body, Bucky could swear he heard a smile in her voice.

Stowing his notebook in a hole he’d carved into his mattress, Bucky quickly crossed to the door, smoothing his clothes and hair as he went. He gave himself a final onceover in the mirror, telling himself it was to cover his time in the closet rather than a desire to look good for Clint.

When he opened the door he was nearly hit in the face with a red rubber ball. Fortunately, his reflexes were fast enough that he was able to catch it. Clint was leaning against the opposite wall. His expression was caught somewhere between impressed, guilty, and disappointed.

“Gotta do better than that, Clint,” he said, before throwing it back to him.

“Better than what?” Clint replied, false innocence dripping from his voice. “I was just amusing myself while I waited for my friend to answer the door.”

“Mmmhmm?” Bucky answered, though his voice nearly caught at Clint’s use of the word ‘friend’. It had been so long since Bucky had had anyone other than Steve that he’d considered a friend. Sure, he had the other Avengers now, but he still felt that his relationships with them were primarily professional. Friendly, but professional; no one, besides Clint, ever asked him to ‘hang out’—well, Peter did sometimes, but he’d like friends his own age.

“Do you want to go for a run?” Clint asked him, bouncing the ball beside him.

Bucky turned to re-enter his room. “Sure. Gimme a second to change and I’ll meet you at the track.”

“Actually,” Clint said with a smirk, “I was thinking that we could do a real run. More of an obstacle challenge if you will. Start here, race around the grounds—around the lake, through the woods, across the river, and back here. Loser cooks dinner?”

“You’re on.”

A short while later, after changing and gathering equipment, Bucky met Clint on the front steps of the compound. Clint was dressed in a bright purple singlet and matching sneakers, with his bow and quiver strapped to his back. Bucky had opted for black bike shorts, sneakers, and his equipment belt. A small contingent of Avenger including Tony, Bruce, Nat, and Wanda had gathered to watch, presumably at Clint’s invitation.

Bucky took a look around. Fairly overcast, no wind. Good start. Next to him, Clint was bending at the waist, stretching out his back. Bucky felt his eye twitch a little at how tight the spandex of the singlet was on his ass, and hurriedly brought his eyes forward.

“So we’re clear, the first one to pass the three checkpoints and get back here, wins. Anything--barring serious injury--goes,” Clint said. “Tony, if you’d do the honour of counting us down?”

“Sure thing." Tony cleared his throat, and tossed up his arms. "The race between Stripper Jesus and the Purple People Eater is about to begin,” he cried in his best announcer voice. “Runners--at your marks. Get set…” he swung his arms back down. "GO!”

Bucky took off like a shot. He had nearly made it to the lake when he heard something twang behind him and felt weighted rope coil itself around his ankles, sending him sprawling to the ground. Clint passed him in a streak of purple, cackling. 

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a knife from his belt and tore through the rope in one swift movement. Clint’s trick had only cost him a few seconds but it had been all Clint needed to overtake him. 

Ahead, Bucky could see that Clint had made the beach. He put on a burst of speed. Soft grass gave way to loose, pebbly sand as Bucky hit the beach and passed the first checkpoint. The lead that Clint had gained on him was shrinking rapidly. 30 feet. 20 feet. At 15 feet Bucky dug into his belt and pulled out a flash bomb, using his best fastball to whip it at the ground just ahead of Clint. As the bomb struck and a great burst of blinding light flared ahead of them, Bucky ducked his head and closed his eyes. On an overcast day like today, the bomb wouldn’t have a devastating effect on Clint, but it would delay him just enough for Bucky to reclaim, if not increase his lead.

He tried not to laugh as he overtook Clint. The man was, impressively, still keeping a slight jog while blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Unfortunately, he happened to be jogging in the direction of the lake.

A bark of laughter did escape Bucky when he heard the splash, followed by Clint’s loud “son of a bitch!”

By the time he heard the splashing stop, he’d made it around the lake and to the next checkpoint just inside the treeline. He was fairly confident that he had secured his victory, but Clint was wily and he wouldn't be surprised if he turtle-and-the-hared this thing. His ears picked up a distant twang and a much closer thud. Bucky followed the sound with his eyes and saw one of Clint’s grappling arrows embedded in a tree. A massive whoop from Clint was all the warning he got before the archer landed on the branch above him. Clint quickly grabbed another arrow and, rather than nocking and shooting, just tossed it by Bucky’s feet, before backflipping down to sprint ahead.

Bucky continued after him, quickly catching up. A muffled boom sounded just behind him and Bucky felt a smattering of dirt land on his head. Clint looked baffled as Bucky drew level with him.

“What?” Bucky asked, shaking some twigs from his hair.

“You,” Clint huffed. “How? That was. A magnet arrow. Your arm,” he managed to get the words out between puffs of air, gesturing.

Bucky smiled and nonchalantly raised his metal arm. “This thing?” he asked. “Vibranium, remember? Non-magnetic. Same with all my weapons. Pays to be on good terms with the princess.” He winked and pulled ahead of Clint, tossing a pellet back over his shoulder. A sticky mess of Peter’s web-fluid burst from the pellet and across the ground at Clint’s feet. “And the kid!”

Above them, there was a brief flash of lightning and a peal of thunder. Seconds later, the sky opened and rain poured down in sheets. The cool water was refreshing on Bucky’s overheated skin. 

As Bucky approached the river, he could still hear Clint behind him, struggling and cursing loudly at the webbing. It would take hours for it to dissolve. Bucky almost felt bad, but as the old expression went, ‘all's fair in love and war’ and this was… well Bucky wasn’t actually sure anymore.

That thought caught him so short he almost tipped headfirst into the river.

He leaned into it just in time as he fell forward, springing off his hands and flipping to land on a rock that was jutting out of water. Ok, he could analyze that thought later. Right now, he just wanted to win the race and get out of the rain.

The river rushed past him as he stood on the rock. The current, such as it was, wasn’t particularly strong and Bucky was already thoroughly soaked through. He shrugged and dove into the river, slicing through the sluggish waves. 

When he climbed up on the muddy bank, Clint was already there, leaning against a tree with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What took you so long? Old age finally catching up with you?” He held out a hand to Bucky, who was still on the ground.

Bucky took the hand and pulled. Hard. Clint, unsuspecting, lost his balance and toppled forward, landing face first in the mud beside Bucky. Quick as a wink, Bucky rolled him over and straddled him. He gently wiped the mud off of Clint’s face, now wearing his own shit eating grin.

“How did you manage to get out of that webbing and beat me across the river?” Bucky asked, pinning Clint to the ground. “I’m kinda—"

“Impressed? Stunned? In awe of my skill, charm, and good looks?” Clint suggested, smiling like a lunatic.

“Let’s settle for impressed,” Bucky said. “Still,” he added, “I’m not gonna let you beat me.”

“You can try.” Clint quickly brought his legs up and hooked his thighs around Bucky’s torso. With a heave, he used his weight and momentum to flip Bucky off him. 

He was off and running without a moment of hesitation before Bucky had a chance to parse what had happened. 

Bucky stood, sloughing mud off of himself. He shook his head, smiling at Clint’s retreating form before taking off after him. He caught up to him just as they reached the edge of the forest. Letting out a wild whoop, he dove forward, tackling Clint. They landed in a sprawling heap at the base of a large fir tree.

Bucky extracted himself quickly. Clint stood, still slightly dazed. Before he had a chance to gather his wits, Bucky was pushing him up against the tree, kissing him.

He was rough with the kiss. Clint’s lips were wet and cold against his, salty with sweat. When Bucky let go, both men were gasping. Clint slumped back, breathing hard. In the low light, it looked to Bucky as though the man were blushing and… startled?

“Are you wearing cherry lip chap?” Clint asked, light though there was a slight quaver to it.

He gaped at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Uh—untie me please?” Clint suggested, wiggling against the rope bonds Bucky had used to tie him to the tree.

“About the kiss!”

“Oh. Meh." Clint somehow still managed to shrug. "But the lip chap was a nice touch.”

Bucky let out a frustrated howl. “You’re  _ impossible _ !”

“I think you’ll realize,” Clint said, twiddling his suddenly free hands, “that I’m incredibly possible.” And he took off running.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Bucky growled and took off after him.

___________________________________________

On a mission was not the time for Bucky to be distracted with thoughts of kissing his partner. Especially when that mission had him infiltrating a hive of human-insect hybrids that had been trained as ninjas.

But thoughts like these never came at convenient times, did they? 

No. They came when Bucky was playing a two-on-two game of basketball, making him fumble the ball. They came while he was making supper for everyone so he got distracted and burned the sauce (Clint still ate it and told him it was delicious).

And the thoughts had changed. Before they’d been self-conscious and competitive, the result of wounded pride. Now, they were thoughts of how lovely Clint’s hair looked when it caught the light just right; or how charming Clint’s laugh was—especially when it was earned by one of Bucky’s bad puns.

Just now, in a hive off half-human, half-wasps, it was how adorable Clint looked when he scrunched his nose up right as he loosed a smokebomb arrow.

“Dude!” Clint signed, ducking out of sight of a sentry mutant that was growing rapidly drowsy. “You gonna launch that thing or what?” He gestured urgently at the large gun in Bucky’s hand, eyebrows raised.

Bucky started and fumbled the gun a little.

“That smoke is only gonna daze them for a few minutes. We need to give ‘em the anti-mutagen  _ now _ and get the hell out.” Clint's fingers danced in front of Bucky's face.

“I know, I know,” Bucky hissed back, heaving the launcher onto his shoulder. He took aim into the centre of the room and pulled the trigger. The cannister landed with a dull thunk followed by a soft hiss as the gas deployed. 

"How long did Bruce say the anti-mutagen would take to work?” Bucky asked, eyeing the wasp-humans carefully.

“Uh—,” Clint said, shouldering his bow and glancing around. “He didn’t get a chance to say before the comms cut out.”

Around them, the hive started to stir. The peaceful silence of the dazed hive was broken and the air was filling with the sound of angry buzzing.

“And, uh, did Bruce say anything about possible reactions to the chemical?” Bucky was slowly backing down the passageway now, Clint not far behind him.

“He might have said something about extreme pain and rage as it took effect.”

Bucky picked up his pace and silently unstrapped two of his guns from his belt. “Yeah, I’m picking up on that. You—you might want to take your bow back out.”

The buzzing was louder now, and getting closer. The wasp-people took off from the ground in a frantic swarm, headed straight for them. As the cloud dove, a few wasp-people fell away, the anti-mutagen taking effect as their wings and stingers rapidly disappeared. Unfortunately, the effects weren’t that rapid on the majority.

Bucky quickly fired off a few shots at the front of the swarm. Tranquilizers flew in a near continuous stream from the barrels of his guns, each finding their mark. Clint was firing off arrows in a quick succession next to him. One burst open, releasing a net that immobilized three of their pursuers.

Between shots, they released smoke bomb after smoke bomb, but to no avail. The wasp-people who weren’t quickly succumbing to the anti-mutagen were too riled for the smoke to have any effect.

Bucky picked off a mutant diving right for his face, ducking as the body tumbled over his shoulder. He raised his gun again, and it clicked. Empty.

Fuck. He dodged behind a lumpier section of hive and reached into his belt for another clip. Nothing. Clint skidded to a halt on the other side of the passageway, his bow moving from left to right. Bucky glanced over--his quiver was empty, his last arrow nocked. 

“Clint!” Bucky called urgently.

“Yeah,” he answered, not looking and releasing his final arrow.

“When I say, close your eyes and follow my lead.”

“Got it,” Clint said, diving into a roll to avoid a stinger.

One of the wasps spotted him. As it dive bombed him, shrieking, Bucky popped up and dodged left, grabbing the creature by its wings and hurling it into three other opponents. Hurriedly, he unclipped a flash grenade from his belt, locating Clint. When he saw the man had a clear escape route, he threw the bomb as hard as he could toward the swarm.

“RUN!”

Bucky grabbed Clint’s hand and ran full tilt toward a ragged hole that looked like the exit, yanking Clint along as the bomb exploded behind them. They burst out into the cool night air, shreds of hive clinging to Bucky's hair. From within the hive, Bucky heard the frustrated screams of the wasps as they bumped into walls, realizing that their prey had escaped.

Bucky didn’t release Clint’s hand or stop running until they were both safely back on the quinjet.

Static erupted in their ears as their comms suddenly came back online. Bruce’s voice came through from the other end, distorted and choppy. “Guys? Guys, can you hear me? The anti-mutagen could take anywhere from two minutes to an hour to take full effect, so you’re going to want to get out of there as soon as you launch it.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Bucky replied drily, rolling his eyes.

He met Clint’s eyes and the man burst out laughing.

Bucky was overcome with giddiness as all the tension and worry drained out of him. He couldn’t help himself when he pulled Clint’s face to him and kissed him tenderly, savouring the feel of Clint’s lips on his.

“Hey, that one was pretty good,” Clint said, looking up at him and smiling. “Probably an eight out of ten. Have you been practicing?”

Bucky slumped down into his seat, too relieved to even care. .

____________________________________

“So,” Natasha said, taking a seat next to Bucky on the sofa.

Bucky turned to look at her, pausing the television—his third episode of ‘Love Is Blind’ that day. “So?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“First of all," she held up a finger, ‘Love is Blind’? With all this century has to offer you choose this?”

“I watch other stuff too!” Bucky said, a bit defensive. “And it’s not my fault. Clint got me hooked.”

Natasha eyed him skeptically, crossing her arms. “Mhmm. That leads me to my second question.”

Bucky’s brows drew together in a frown. He didn’t like where this was going. Natasha was being far too casual, and yet far too direct for someone of her talents. “Yes?”

“When are you going to actually ask him out?”

Shit. “What? Who?” Bucky asked, directing his attention back to the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Natasha raised her eyebrows. It was clear she wasn’t buying Bucky’s ignorance any more than he’d bought her nonchalance.

“Don’t play dumb, Barnes—we’re both far too good for that. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. He should’ve anticipated this. Actually, it never should have gotten this far in the first place. The moment he’d realized he was falling for Clint, he should have done something about it.

But then the kisses. Clint had never been impressed. Bucky was pretty sure at this point it was just a game to Clint. A way for him to torment Bucky for a laugh. Mind, Bucky didn’t really care if it meant he kept getting to spend time with Clint. Much.

“I was going to get around to it,” Bucky told her.

“When?” she fired back. “After another 70 years?” Then she looked at him in that way she had. The way that made Bucky wonder if Wanda wasn’t the only one with mind powers. “You know he’s demi, right?”

“What?” Bucky asked, confused. “Half? Half what?”

“Demisexual. It means he’s only attracted to people once he gets to know them,” she continued when it was clear Bucky needed an explanation.

“But he kissed me first?”

Natasha sighed. “Yeah, he does that every so often.”

“Kisses people?”

“Sort of.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly annoyed with Clint. “He doubts his own sexuality. He can recognize when he finds someone attractive, but in the same detached way either you or I would when engaging with a target. Sometimes he just forges ahead, kisses them or more… to see if he feels something. Never does.” She pursed her lips, her concern clear. 

Bucky nodded slowly, thoughtful. “I... see.” He didn’t really. The concept seemed fairly simple to grasp, genuine connection leading to physical attraction as opposed to the other way around, but he didn’t understand how that reflected this current situation.

Natasha sighed. “Let me spell it out for you. These things are usually a one-off with Clint. He’d try it and then move on to a different interest. But, with you… he kept at it. Developed a friendship. Haven’t you noticed you’re getting better feedback from him?”

“Yeah…” The more Bucky thought about it, the more it made sense. Clint’s frustration and disappointment the first time  _ had _ seemed like it wasn’t directed at Bucky. And Clint had seemed to be enjoying the kisses more and more each time. Bucky had written it off as amusement at his frustration, but maybe it was more than that.

“All I’m saying... is that both of you seem  _ very happy _ when you’re hanging out,” Natasha said pointedly.

“I know I am,” Bucky admitted. “He’s been my first real friend since I got here.”

"Exactly." Natasha smiled. “You have both, as Peter would say, ‘caught feels’.” She rose to leave. When she was at the door, Natasha looked back. “And Bucky, I’d like to be your friend too. A few of us are going cherry picking this weekend. You should come.”

Bucky paused, taken aback. “I’d—I’d like that,” he said quietly.

“Great! Be out front at 9 a.m. on Saturday. And for the love of God ask him out sooner rather than later. If I have to hear him say your name and sigh mournfully one more time, we’ll be holding auditions for a new bow and arrow guy.”

He tried to focus his attention back on his show, but found that he couldn’t pay attention. Natasha’s words kept swirling through his head. His interactions with Clint made so much more sense now. He’d never felt the long lingering looks that he was used to getting when someone was into him. Clint’s attraction had shown itself in other ways, like seeking him out, just to chat, or doing things together. Clint had wanted to get to know Bucky.

Switching off the TV, he got up with determination. He made a brief detour to his room to spruce up his appearance and check something on Google.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. where's Clint?” he asked the A.I., leaving his room.

“Mr. Barton is currently in his quarters.”

“Could you let him know I’m on my way to see him?”

“I will alert Mr. Barton to your impending arrival,” she responded happily.

Bucky’s pace slowed as he approached Clint’s door. Now that he was actually here he felt suddenly unsure. Still, he'd come this far. He raised his hand and knocked.

From within the room Bucky heard a muffled thump. “Com--ow. Damn it. COMING!” Clint shouted through the door. “Just—uh—just gimme a second.”

When the door finally opened, Clint was draped against the wall, a mass of bedsheets tangled around him and falling off one bare shoulder. 

“Hi, what can I do for you?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Uh—is this a bad time?” Bucky asked, taking in Clint’s dishevelled appearance.

Clint smiled and shook his head. “Nah, just woke up from a nap. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said you wanted to see me?”

Bucky blushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Y—yeah…” He’d done this a million times before; why was he so nervous this time? “W—would…” He swallowed, squared his shoulders and looked Clint in the eye. He was gonna do this right. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the dance hall tonight?”

Clint’s smile exploded into a full-toothed, eye-crinkling grin. “Why Mr. Barnes,” he said in his best imitation of a southern belle. “I do believe you are courting me. What will my daddy say?”

Bucky smiled back, gazing sheepishly at Clint through his eyelashes. “I’m hoping ‘yes’”

“Yes. Of course I’ll go dancing with you,” Clint said, dropping all pretense. “Pick me up around eight?”

******

Several hours later, Bucky was once again standing outside of Clint’s door. He was wearing a dark grey double-breasted suit—one of his more formal pieces of civilian clothing—a red tie, and a white flower tucked into his lapel. He’d spent longer than he’d like to admit coifing his long hair into something resembling a respectable hairstyle.

When Clint opened the door his eyes widened and he gave Bucky an appreciative once over. Bucky did the same. Clint had dressed in a black suit adding a pop of aubergine with his tie and pocket square. The suit’s cut was more modern than Bucky’s and hugged his lithe frame. Most strikingly, his usually spikey blond hair had been smoothed and styled into an elegant pompadour.

“Hi,” Bucky said shyly.

“Hi. Are those for me?” Clint asked, gesturing to the bouquet of violets and daisies in Bucky’s hand.

“Yeah.” Bucky blushed and handed him the flowers. “I hope that’s okay. I don’t know the etiquette for taking a man on a date. Since, y’know…”

Clint stopped Bucky’s rambling with a hand on his arm. “They’re beautiful. I love them.” He pulled the bouquet to his face and inhaled their heady perfume. “And you can never go wrong with flowers, especially violets. They’re my favourite flower actually.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Bucky asked.

“Because,” Clint said, entering his room and gesturing that Bucky should follow, “they contain ionone.” He rummaged around in a cupboard, pulling out a vase to place the flowers in. “The ionone temporarily desensitizes the nose meaning you only have one chance to appreciate the beauty of their scent.”

“That is beautiful,” Bucky said. “And one of the singularly most pretentious things I’ve ever heard.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, it is. But it’s still true.” He turned back to face Bucky. “Now, let’s stop philosophising on flowers, cause you were taking me dancing.”

“I was,” Bucky agreed, laughing and taking Clint’s hand. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

Bucky led Clint through the compound and out to the driveway. “I thought we’d take my bike. I hope you don’t mind.” He handed Clint a helmet and swung onto the bike.

“Not at all,” Clint said, taking the helmet and sliding on behind Bucky, wrapping his arms around him.

The bike roared to life beneath them. Bucky revved the engine once and then pulled out of the driveway, gravel flying up behind them. The dance hall Bucky had found was a short distance away in a nearby town. They rode through the night, the dark trees whipping past them. It felt nice to have Clint’s weight behind him, and even better to have his arms around him. 

When they pulled up to the hall they could hear the lively swing music pouring out of the building. The dark night was intermittently illuminated in flashes as the people went in and out of the hall. Bucky felt energized as he took Clint’s hand once again. This was something, finally, that felt right; felt familiar. Beside him, Clint squeezed his hand.

“What is this place?” Clint asked, looking around.

“Swing dance club,” Bucky said, excitement creeping into his voice. “It’s a theme bar that celebrates the best of the 30s. Places like this were all over the place before the war. Now they’re for people who love swing dance and getting back to a time they think was ‘simpler’.” Bucky used his free hand to make air quotes (Peter had explained them last week).

“Ok, no cynicism tonight,” Clint said, giving his hand another squeeze. “Just fun. What do you say you and I go show these people what  _ authentic _ swing dancing looks like.”

“Yes,” Bucky said smiling. “Let’s.”

They spent hours dancing. Bucky was frequently asked to dance by other patrons, all of whom he politely denied, preferring to stay by Clint’s side. He had to teach Clint some of the more complicated steps, but he was a quick study.

“You’ve got some fancy feet there, Mr. Barton, ” Bucky commented on one of their breaks, leaning against the bar.

Clint grinned like a fool and took a sip of his gin and tonic. “You can thank the circus for that. Jenny-May, the fire eater, was a big swing dancing fan, and the troupe liked to party.”

“Those must have been some wild times.”

“Oh they were,” Clint sighed. “Remind me to tell you about the time the clowns spiked the punch with LSD.”

Bucky grimaced.

“That about sums it up,” Clint chuckled. “The whole circus had to close for about a month.” He took another sip as the current song came to an end, a lively number that they’d needed a rest from. 

The band started up again, a slow song this time, ‘My Funny Valentine’. 

“I love this song,” Bucky sighed, resting his chin in his hand. He swirled his drink and took a sip.

“I do too. Dance with me?” Clint asked, taking his hand.

It was their final dance of the night, and it was perfect. No complicated steps, they just swayed, holding each other on the dancefloor. When the song finished, Bucky drew back but kept Clint's hand, smiling at the tinge of a blush that rose on his cheeks. 

They left the hall arm in arm. Standing in the parking lot, staring up at the stars, Bucky felt truly happy and whole, in a way he hadn’t thought he ever would. Neither of them said anything, and neither moved to get on the bike. Eventually the night chill got to them and Bucky drove them back to the compound.

When they reached Clint’s door, Clint turned to Bucky. “I had a really good time tonight. I’m glad you asked me out.”

“Me too.” Bucky smiled. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Definitely.” Clint smiled, leaning against his door.

Bucky smiled back and then turned to go. 

Behind him, Clint made a noise of surprise. “What, no goodnight kiss?”

Bucky turned back to him. He leaned into the man, his breath ghosting over Clint’s lips as he trailed his fingertips gently along his jaw. Clint's eyes slipped closed as he sighed.

At the last second, Bucky swerved to the side, kissing Clint lightly on the cheek. “Goodnight, Clint.”

“Ten out of ten.” Clint grinned.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was written for 2 reasons.
> 
> One, because I was deeply amused by the idea of someone kissing a person with a "Casanova-like" reputation just cause they wanted to see what it was all about. Thus, this Clucky fic was born. It seemed to fit these two.
> 
> Two, because I wanted to send my friend something in the mail like an old-time serial.
> 
> As a note, Nat's explanation of Clint's demisexuality reflects only my personal interpretation of my own identity. I don't presume to speak for anyone else. She explains it the way I explain my identity to other people.
> 
> Other note, I don't really know what the deal with cherries is in this fic. I don't even like cherries.
> 
> Oh two final things. Steve's relationship with Nat or Sam is whatever you the reader wants it to be. It was only as I was editing this that I realized I may have implied some things. I have chosen to believe that Steve, Nat, and Sam are in a poly relationship. And because meanttobeclever insisted that I reveal who won the race, it ended in a tie. They cooked supper together. They made chilli.


End file.
